Keeping Warm
by Iellix
Summary: Alice and Hatter. A cold night on the road. One blanket.
1. Cold

This was written for a prompt on LiveJournal from Chibi Kaz, who wanted some Hatter-and-Alice porn to the tune of 'Blanket Fic'. Basically, 'it's cold and we only have one blanket, let's huddle together and share body heat!' Yes, I wrote more smut. I can't help myself!

This story is a slight AU; it takes place in part two just after Alice is rescued from the Casino but before Hatter goes off to bargain for a visit to Caterpillar.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story—I just like borrowing them and putting them in awkward situations.

o…o

Charlie's little campfire on the beach does slightly less than fuck-all to dry Alice's soaking wet clothes, or to warm her up, and they can't stay at the lakeside because the sky is full of those flying flamingo bikes. So Charlie collects his armour and stamps out his fire and they head into the woods. Where they'll be safe—or safe from the Suits; the idea of being dragged back to the Queen makes wandering into the Jabberwocky's forest seem like a pleasant alternative.

So into the woods they go.

They're wet.

They're cold.

Their sodden shoes are squelching noisily as they walk through the forest.

Alice is cranky and angry enough as it is, given everything she's been through since… morning. And the prospect of the long, long walk through the Jabberwocky's forest to the Kingdom of the Knights isn't making her mood any better. The trek was pretty long the first time on horseback; on foot it's going to take forever.

She's wet.

She's cold.

She's cranky.

And they're following crazy Charlie and they're not even sure where the hell they're going and they're not sure _he_ knows where he's going, either, but he's all they have and he's proven reliable so far, if not entirely lucid. So they follow him, she and Hatter both.

The sky through the tree canopy is starting to turn as dusk begins to settle. The light filtering down is orange. There's almost no sunlight down here and Alice is starting to shiver uncontrollably as they walk. To keep her mind off of it she concentrates on the weight of the watch in her dress pocket and following Charlie's white armour through the green. There's hardly any trails here, not even animal trails, and that slows the walking considerably and they have to pick slowly, cautiously through the undergrowth.

Hatter is next to her, off to the side, watching his footing. He's soaking wet, too, holding his hat in his hand. She catches him staring at her when she looks at him and quickly they both look away.

She hugs tight around herself and rubs her arms but it does nothing to stave off the cold. Her teeth are starting to chatter no matter how hard she tries not to let them.

Behind her she feels something settle over her shoulders.

Hatter's coat.

"You'll catch your death," is all he says.

The jacket is still wet from the lake, and heavy, and the leather smells a little funky because wet leather always smells a little funky, and normally she'd protest that she doesn't need special treatment and he should keep his stinkin' jacket but at least it's warm so she hugs it close and doesn't complain.

Except for the funky-wet-leather thing, the jacket is distinctly Hatter-ish. It smells the littlest bit like his cologne or whatever it was he was wearing when they first met—something warm and earthy and a little spicy—and strong tea and a hint of sweat.

Her shivering lessens.

"Thank you," she whispers through her trembling lips.

He nods and gives her a smile, but it's half-hearted and the dimple in his cheek doesn't come out and the smile doesn't reach his eyes.

They finish the long trek in silence.

o…o

It's almost completely dark by the time they get to the ancient city. Alice is clutching Charlie's belt and Hatter is holding onto the back of the jacket and they're blindly trusting that Charlie can get them to the city.

And he does.

Guinevere and Arthur are already there, wandering happily riderless in their pasture. They must have wandered back on their own. Charlie greets them cheerfully and talks to them like they're people and congratulates them for being so clever and finding their way back on their own. For the first time Alice realizes how lonely he must have been out here all alone for such a long, long time. Maybe that's why he's come out in all of those absurd eccentricities—he talks to himself, sings constantly, invents strange things, behaves oddly because he's had to keep himself occupied and his mind sharp in the absence of other people.

They get a fire going, a proper big fire that can take away a little of the chill that goes all the way down to their bones. She gives Hatter his coat back and takes the velvet one back from the ladder where she left it the night before. It's dry, which is a huge relief.

It isn't long before Charlie falls asleep in his hammock hugging his little rag-toy to his chest and snoring mightily.

She catches Hatter sneaking out to the horses and she narrows her eyes at him until he seems to sense it and stops and turns to her.

"What?"

"Where're you going?" She asks.

"Going to head back to the city," he says. "So I can try and get the Resistance to help. Remember?"

She doesn't answer and he doesn't wait for her to.

"Lost a lot of time getting back 'ere. The sooner I get back to the city and get word to the Resistance, the better."

She wants him to help, she's _glad_ he wants to help—really, truly help her, to stop her from going back into the Casino, because somehow he must have started to care for her—and it's good he's so eager to get started but the thought of him riding off and leaving her here…

"Stay."

She says it too quickly, so quick it surprises both of them but in the darkness and the feeble light of the flickering fire in the distance he doesn't see the look of shock on her face.

"It's late," she says, trying to recover. "And it's dark. We're all tired, including the horses. If you go out so tired you might not make it that far or you'll get lost or something. Sleep. Go in the morning."

Even in the dark she can feel his eyes on her, searching, searching, because Hatter is probably pretty damn good at finding what he's looking for in people. She can see his silhouette move and hear him nod.

She heads back down the hill towards the fire.

She doesn't have to check to know he's following close behind her.

o…o

Originally this was just a one-shot, but it seems the story got way out-of-control (being far too wordy seems to be a consistent problem of mine…) so I had to split it into two parts. The next part has lemon in it. Lemony goodness all the way!


	2. Warm

This is part two, in which the story get _wildly_ out-of-control for no reason other than I can't control my wordiness. There should be a support-group for people like me…

This chapter contains adult content. Smut. If this offends you, please hit the back button before your sensibilities are offended!

o…o

How does Charlie sleep here, she wonders? He's snoring peacefully and unaware of anything around them. This forest is loud at night. _Quietly_ loud. In the dead-silence of night Alice can hear all the forest sounds she wouldn't have heard during the daytime.

There's the rustling of individual leaves and the creaking of the ancient towering trees as they sway in the wind; nighttime animals scurry; bats squeak; in the distance something croons and it doesn't sound like an owl and she puts aside her agnostic tendencies for a minute and hopes to whatever deity that might be listening that it isn't something big or dangerous that could swallow them whole and spit out their bones.

It's windy. And cold.

Her clothes are still wet and it's making her shiver again so when Hatter goes off into the trees to take a leak she takes her dress and her tights off and drapes them near the fire so they'll dry. Now she's wearing Hatter's velvet coat over her underwear and hugging a huge wool blanket around herself for warmth and modesty. She doesn't venture far from the fire—it's warm here, bathed in light, and feels safe.

"Oh—_oh,"_ Hatter sounds shocked when he comes back.

He's staring at her dress and her tights like they might suddenly leap up and attack him and she can see the look on his face and it's so unlike Hatter—surprised and taken aback—and she covers her mouth so he doesn't see her smile.

"They were wet," she says. "I'd rather not be stuck here in Wonderland running from the Queen _and_ come down with pneumonia."

He nods and doesn't look at her because he must have just realized that under that blanket she's not wearing anything. He's also shivering himself. His clothes are still wet, too.

"Good idea," he says, and starts pulling his coat off and unbuttoning his shirt.

"Wait, what?"

"I don't need to catch my death any more than you do. Wet clothes won't help."

"So what are you gonna do, just hang around by the fire in your underwear?"

He looks at her and nods at the enormous blanket she has pulled around herself. "Plenty of room in there."

Now it's her turn to be bashful—Hatter, sharing her blanket? In his underwear? All kinds of thoughts fill her head. This is awful. This is brilliant. Oh my god she's going to see him topless and with no pants on. He's going to be mostly-naked under the blanket with her and it sounds like a lead-in to a really bad porno.

"You sure that's a good idea?" She keeps her voice even but a million thoughts and different outcomes to this situation are all running through her head all at the same time.

He stops unbuttoning his shirt and looks over at her and she feels a ridiculous and inexplicable urge to climb up and bite his neck.

"C'mon, let's be adults about this," he says, and his tone is almost scolding, like he knows she was thinking something dirty and doesn't approve of it. "It's just practical."

She can't really argue with that so she doesn't.

And then he smiles at her and this one is genuine because the dimple forms in his left cheek. "Conservation of body heat, you know," he says. "98.6 degrees times two is 197.2 degrees."

She can't help a giggle. "I don't think it works exactly like that."

But his smile doesn't falter and he sort of half-winks at her and for some reason that makes her heart beat double-time.

He undresses quickly and Alice stares at him while he fussily arranges his clothes by the fire to dry. Good god, he's pretty. All lean and wiry and slight. Narrow waist, narrow hips. Long sturdy legs. His wine-coloured boxer shorts are too loose for her to get a good look at his ass but judging from the rest of him it's bound to be spectacular. In the glint of the fire's light she can see the outlines of old scars from battles long ago and they lend to his air of danger and mystery and maybe just a little bit of excitement.

The wind gusts and he yelps in the cold and decides that his clothes are fine how they are and he stumbles towards her.

"Shove up!" He orders, coming to a skidding stop next to her and wrapping half the blanket tight around himself. "Hell's spades, it's cold!"

Ordinarily she'd make a smart comment with regard to the redundancy and obviousness of his statement but suddenly she finds all the words catching in her throat and they get stuck there. He's all bare skin and heat, unexpectedly warm. He's still wearing his hat—because Hatter would not be Hatter without it—and his boots and, perhaps most bizarrely of all, his tie, hanging loose around his neck and resting on his bare chest.

"A bit cozy, yeah?" He asks. He's smiling again. Her heart does a little leap.

"Just a little," she agrees, keeping her voice light while her skin prickles with electricity and they're not even touching. She's shivering again, and this time she knows it's not because of the cold.

He shifts. "You okay?"

She nods. "Just cold."

He doesn't ask if she wants him closer, he just inches over until he's sitting flush up against her. His right thigh is touching her left, his arm pressing against hers; his shoulder is at just the right level that she can tilt to the side and rest her head on it.

Now she is acutely aware of the fact that they're sitting here together in the blanket very nearly naked. Her head goes all fuzzy. He's radiating warmth; she's close enough she can just ever so slightly feel his heartbeat, _thuh-bump, thuh-bump_ in his chest; the smell of his cologne is mostly gone and now he just smells like _guy_—a combination of sweat and his own unique scent—which normally would make her gag and dry-heave but for some reason she finds it weirdly sexy in him. Probably because the smell is more musky-sexy-earthy and less like a jockstrap wadded up inside a week-old sweat sock.

He leans ever so slightly and rests his cheek on top of her head as they stare into the fire and make every effort not to look at one another.

He's really, _really_ pretty.

Looking back on it time and again she's still never _entirely_ sure what makes her do it. Maybe it's a combination of exhaustion clouding her judgment, and adrenaline making her act reckless, and everything that's fallen on her head since she stumbled through the Looking Glass. Hatter has helped her and he cares enough about her to come right into the lion's den to rescue her. He's been her guide. As much of an obvious conman as he is, he's proven himself to be at least somewhat trustworthy.

He's not a lying prince.

He's not engaged to a duchess.

And in truth, she likes him. Against her better judgment, she likes him. A lot.

Alice is just as surprised to find herself kissing Hatter as _he_ is.

Even more surprising, he kisses her back.

He's tentative at first, surprised, but in seconds the surprise is gone and the kiss gets deeper and more passionate, lips moving smoothly against hers. He's surprisingly gentle and sweet, which she doesn't expect from him, but then she's not sure what she _expected,_ either. Then he tries to sit back and she follows him, entirely unwilling to let the kiss end. She follows him until he sits back so far he loses his balance and ends up on his back; she tumbles after him and they end up in a heap on the ground in a tangle of blanket and limbs.

Giggling at it is inevitable and it breaks up the tension in this sudden shift in their rapport… then she opens her eyes and looks down at him and the giggling stops immediately. He's looking up at her and his gaze is _smouldering_ and his dark eyes are hard and his face is unreadable. Actually, it's quite readable; nothing short of outright, pure, undiluted_ lust._

He closes his eyes and swallows hard and when he opens them again it looks like his brain is back in a little bit of control.

"Alice…" he breathes her name, husky and low, and the tone makes an unexpected—but not unwelcome—heat pool in her belly and spread through her body.

He shifts and groans and his eyes close again and again he says her name. She puts a finger to his lips—the last thing she wants right now is for his brain to be in control. She doesn't want him to sit up and come up with some gentle let-down or an excuse as to why they probably shouldn't do anything, no matter how legitimate his concerns might be.

"Don't say it," she says. "I don't wanna hear about how we shouldn't, that it's a bad idea, 'cuz I know we shouldn't and I _know_ it's a bad idea. I just don't care."

Under her fingers he smiles and there goes that devastating little dimple. He takes her hand away from his mouth and laces their fingers together.

"Really, I was just gonna say we should be quiet so we don't wake up mad ol' Charlie."

This time they both laugh, soft and quiet. Then he lifts his head and she comes down to meet his mouth and this kiss is all fiery and needy. Teeth click and tongues tangle and he pulls her down closer by a fistful of hair so hard it hurts, but her head is getting foggier by the second and the pain barely registers around everything else that's happening.

She shifts and plants her knees on either side of his hips; rocks in the dirt under their blanket dig into her knees and make her eyes water. She shifts again to get comfortable and Hatter groans and growls into her kiss and grasps her hips to steady her and hold her still. She parts just a fraction of an inch from his mouth and hums curiously, and again she shifts, pressing hard into his pelvis and this time instead of growling he bites her lip.

She goes for his neck because, really, it's a sexy neck just like everything else on him is sexy. Slow, hot, open-mouthed kisses down his throat to his collarbones and back, stubble scraping her lips and her cheeks; Hatter moans a strangled little moan that turns into a raspy sigh. He lolls his head back, eagerly inviting her to do it again and she obliges, grinning as she does. She makes her way back up from the dip in his throat—where she flicks her tongue just to hear the sharp intake of breath and feel him buck against her—up the side of his neck and stops just below his ear. She sucks on the delicate skin and another sharp gasp gets caught in his throat and under her he goes tense.

Hatter's neck is his weak spot—who'd've thought it? It's a surprisingly public place for such a highly effective erogenous zone, but she could have fun with that later.

At her back, she feels something give and it takes several seconds for her to realize that it's her bra. Without her realizing it, he's gone up around the back of her coat and unfastened it discreetly with one hand, which is quite an accomplishment when she thinks about how many boyfriends and lovers she's had in the past who complained about the alleged impossible nature of bra clasps. But then, Hatter has very good hands, nimble and quick and used to performing those distracting hat-tricks, and no doubt cheating at cards and chess and anything else he can cheat at.

She'd like to see what _else_ those hands are good for.

He looks insufferably pleased with himself at her surprise and she narrows her eyes at him, but a smile comes out of its own accord and he grins back at her, and she can't resist going back down and kissing him again. Hatter's kisses are dangerously addictive. Absently, Alice thinks that if the Queen could bottle and sell _this_ in a tea shop then all of Wonderland would be her willing slave.

She tries to wiggle out of her bra but she's forgotten she's still wearing the velvet coat over it. He reaches up and helpfully pushes the garment part of the way down her shoulders, but stops. His eyes lock with hers and the question is there, hanging in the air between them but unspoken.

"Yeah," she breathed, surprised at the sound of her own voice. "For god's sake, yes, now keep going!"

"Impatient little Oyster," he purrs, breath hot in her ear. He traces the curve of her ear with his tongue and nips at her earlobe while he pushes the jacket slowly, _slowly_ down her arms, and Alice makes a needy little whine low in her throat that she didn't even know she was _capable_ of making.

He's going way too slow for her liking so she sits back and rests on her heels and pulls the coat off herself, quickly followed by her bra. She's greeted by a fresh rush of cold air—sitting back has left a big gap in the blanket—and she instinctively drops closer to him for warmth and closes their heavy wool cocoon around them.

There isn't room for sitting back and staring, but Hatter's eyes travel up and down her body anyway. The light is barely sufficient but he can clearly make out enough of her features to like what he sees. He licks his lips.

"Should do this in daytime," he says, arching up to kiss her again, and then leaving a little trail of pecks along her jaw to her ear. "Can't see anything in the dark."

Her breath catches in her throat as he moves his hands slowly down her bare sides. He uses his nails, dragging them down the skin _almost_ hard enough to sting but not quite. She squirms and whimpers until his hands come to a stop on her hips. His fingers idly trace the outline of her panties.

"Not the end of the world," she says. She's keeping her voice level, even though her insides are turning to pudding. "You're a big boy, I'm sure you know where everything is."

Oh, and he does.

Hands move again, up her stomach and her ribs to her chest. She's thoroughly enjoying this and she sits still and lets him explore her as much as he likes. He's not wasting any time—he cups a breast gently and when she makes no move to protest he squeezes it. A startled yelp bursts from her lips, and immediately Hatter stills and she covers her mouth with her hand. They both look in the direction of Charlie's hammock and wait.

He snorts, stirs slightly, and for a few seconds they hold their breath. But Charlie goes back to snorting and singing in his sleep so they haven't woken him up, and they both sigh with relief.

Once they're sure they're safe, she goes straight for his neck again with her mouth. She slides her hands under the waistband of his boxers, pulling him free, and he makes a little gurgling noise in his throat and his hands fumble with her underwear and moans softly, bucking his hips and thrusting against her hand.

He's hard already and she grins against the hollow of his throat. Her hand is firm as she grasps him; his start to tremble where they rest on her hips. She moves down his neck to his chest, kissing and lipping and nipping all the way. She feels the ridges and dips of old scars under her lips as she goes. She pauses and hovers her lips over the angry purple-and-yellow bruise over his heart where Dodo's bullet hit.

"Alice…" Hatter whines and rolls his hips into her hand.

She giggles softly and playfully bites his nipple and he _almost_ cries out but manages to stop himself. He brings one and up from her hip and bites down on it. She drags her hand up his length, slow and deliberate from the base to the tip. She drags her thumb through the little bead of semen and slicks it over the head and he moans and whimpers and bites down on his fist.

"Oh, sweet White Queen…" he breathes around his fist, rocking his hips and gripping her hip.

That must be the Wonderland equivalent of 'oh god', but it sounds so silly that Alice can't help but laugh again.

A wicked thought occurs to her and she withdraws her hand, much to Hatter's disappointed groan. His chest is heaving and he's got a fine sheen of sweat on his skin. With a grin she slowly licks her fingers clean; he's stopped biting his hand and watches her, dark eyes wide.

"Damn, that's hot."

The words sound weirdly coarse in his accent and that just turns her on more. She's not sure how much longer she can keep up this teasing before she cracks herself.

She flicks her tongue over her thumb one last time, then slides her hand into her own knickers. She's wet and slick and so turned on she has to concentrate very hard on not remedying that right here and now. She plans on having a little fun with Hatter first.

Thank goodness for female plumbing, she thinks to herself, dragging her fingers through her heat, and purposefully pulls her hand out and rubs the wet all over her fingers. He looks confused for about half a second until she takes him in her now-slick hand and his eyes roll back in his head and he gurgles again.

She pumps her fist slowly at first, gauging his reaction, then faster, aided by the wet coating her fingers and now his cock; he pants, his breath speeding up and becoming ragged. He moves his hips and tries to set the rhythm but she pushes him down and holds him still. The veins in his neck and hands begin to stand out. He's trying his damndest not to make any noise.

He lifts his head when he feels her move down, and watches her intently as she lowers her head and takes him in her mouth.

He's holding his breath.

She bobs her head and slides her mouth as far down on him as she can without choking. She can taste herself and him and he's whimpering now, fisting one hand in the blanket around them and really _biting_ down on the other, so hard it nearly breaks the skin and _god damn_ this is absurdly hot. She's enjoying this almost as much as he is, she thinks.

His hips go again, pushing him a little further into her throat and making her gag a little. She has to be in control, has to be the one calling the shots, so she presses down firmly and holds him still.

She swirls her tongue over the head, grazes him _ever _so slightly with her teeth, and he thrashes under her.

He tries to push her away and she knows he's close, but she doesn't sit back. Instead she sucks him down further and she swallows him down quickly when he comes.

A stifled moan breaks off into strangled whimpers, and his hips buck and jerk and roll until he comes back down to earth and then he lays there panting heavily, his chest heaving. She takes her mouth away with a little wet 'pop' and he grunts.

When she crawls back up to, she sees his hand on his chest and there are deep teeth marks in it where he was biting down. Impulsively, she leans forward and kisses them. He cracks one eye and looks down at her. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but all that comes out is a raspy sigh and he closes it again quickly with a _click!_ sound.

She snickers softly against his shoulder and nuzzles his neck, her hand idly tracing little patterns on his chest and his stomach with her fingertips, and Hatter shivers. When finally he manages to recover his voice, he only gets one word out.

"Wow."

She runs the tip of her tongue up his neck and he surprises her when he pulls her up and crushes his mouth to hers in a searingly hot kiss. No other guy would have done that, she muses, giddy—kissing her after she just went down on him? That would make most men's skin crawl.

But not Hatter. He bites her lip and then her tongue and he purrs—actually _purrs,_ low and rumbling up in his chest_—_when he tastes himself in her mouth. He wraps his arms tight around her and pulls her flush against him, chest to chest and stomach to stomach, skin hot and prickling where they touch. Which is everywhere.

Alice can feel his heart thudding between them, levelling off as her own starts to pound faster and faster. She's hot from her chest into the pit of her stomach and between her thighs where she positively _aches_ for a touch, wet with arousal all the way through her knickers and down to her thighs. He plants his hands on her lower back and pulls her hips flush against his and the contact is absolutely _electric,_ sending sharp jolts of pleasure lancing through her. When she moans into the kiss he swallows the sound.

Without breaking contact, he carefully turns them over.

Usually Alice doesn't like being on the bottom—she prefers the top, where she can have control, and where she won't end up squished when her lover inevitably collapses on top of her—but Hatter is purring and his hands are gentle and the combination is comforting and disarming.

Whether it's the heat of the moment or he's just talking to talk or if it's because he's still giddily-post-orgasm enough to have his guard down enough to say what he really feels, she's not sure, but he murmurs and whispers uncharacteristically sweet things in her ear.

"My Alice," he sighs, still a little breathless. "My beautiful Oyster…"

It's sweet and wonderful and it adds to everything happening; somehow _this—_wrapped in an old blanket in an abandoned city of the long-gone ancient knights in the middle of a war-torn Wonderland—is more romantic than candles and rose petals. She'd take this, take _Hatter _and everything about him—the good, the bad, the ugly—over any tired and contrived song-and-dance romantic gestures.

There's something significant in that, she knows it, but her brain isn't wired for _thought_ right now so she bookmarks it for later analysis and goes back to Hatter.

Now he's hovering over her, balanced on his elbows and watching her carefully for any sign of discomfort and waiting, giving her ample time to tell him to stop. A quick roll of her hips is more than enough to assure him.

He kisses her again and she gingerly removes his hat and lets it drop somewhere, forgotten; she threads her fingers through his messy, every-which-way hair. He moves his mouth down to her neck and then to her chest, leaving a wet trail of kisses as he goes. He pauses at her breasts, wetly licks one nipple and breathes cool air over it so it tightens before switching to the other.

It's her turn to do everything in her power not to make a sound. Charlie has slept through everything thus far, but it won't pay to take chances. Oh, but it's _hard_ to keep herself under control; he kneads one breast, rolls the nipple gently between his fingers, whilst his mouth works the other and he tugs it with his lips.

Hot damn, that feels good. Everything he does feels good.

"Hatter," she breathes, struggling to keep her voice hushed. It comes out as a rough, rattling whisper.

He pauses at the sound of his name, taking his mouth away from her breast so he can look up at her, a question in his eyes. All she has to do is say the word and he'll stop, back off—if he senses she's at all uncomfortable or reluctant, he won't dare go further.

"Don't you _dare_ stop!" She orders.

He grins up at her, sexy dimple and all, and goes back to her breasts.

But he doesn't stay there for long.

He's not as concerned with slowly tormenting her as she was with him; his hands and his mouth make smooth lines down her torso, tickling and scraping and leaving a little wet trail with his tongue that practically sizzles on her heated skin.

He toys with the elastic of her panties, her last little scrap of clothing, and drags them roughly down her thighs to her knees and over her boots and she doesn't particularly care where they end up. For all she cares right now, they could end up on the fire.

He stops at the apex of her thighs, hands braced against either side of her hips. He rubs his nose in he patch of dark hair, breathes in her scent, lets out a hot breath over her sex that makes her tremble.

She bites her lip and rocks her hips, on edge. He nudges her legs gently apart and she spreads them eagerly. She knots her hands in his hair, rakes her nails down the back of his neck and digs them into his shoulders, trying to egg him on.

She _feels_ more than _hears_ him laugh softly, quaking ever so slightly and his breath on her body.

"Impatient?"

"Yes!" She hisses. "Go on or I'll finish this myself!"

He lips the skin just under her navel and plants a little kiss there. "Is that meant to be a threat?" He asks lightly. "Because it's not a very effective one."

She squirms and growls, and he bats her hands away as she tries to make good on her less-than-effective threat.

He swipes his tongue over her once, slowly, savouring her taste. Alice moans—oh, _finally!—_and her hips buck into him. He does it again, even slower, tongue delving deeper into her folds. The 'slow' business doesn't last long, though, and he presses harder and rolls her clit between his lips and she muffles her cry by biting her lip.

He teases the little bundle of nerves with his tongue and his lips, licking and sucking and lipping just to see what reactions he can get out of her. She rolls her hips and concentrates on not making noise.

Damn, he's good.

He presses his tongue further into her, devouring her greedily and hungrily, his nose pressing against her clit and his two-day stubble scratching at her thighs. The pleasure starts to snowball, building and spreading and making her tremble. When he sucks softly on her clit, her orgasm rips through her and sends her convulsing under his mouth. She's pretty sure she's just raked his shoulders something awful with her nails, but she isn't lucid enough to tell. Blood rushes in her ears, and an unbidden and entirely too-loud moan escapes her.

Hatter doesn't stop or even slow down, encouraged by her climax and determined to make it happen again. Her breath comes in short pants, her chest is on fire like she's run a mile, her whole body so hyper-sensitive it borders on uncomfortable wherever he touches her, but it feels so good she just doesn't care.

Her second orgasm is even more intense, her back arching and her teeth digging hard into her bottom lip. After that she has to push him back, closing her thighs slightly so he knows she needs him to stop, and he does. He kisses the soft inside of her thigh and she squirms.

He works his way back up to her lips and kisses her so sweetly it makes her head spin.

"You all right?" He kisses her ear, nuzzles her hair, breathes in her scent.

"Yeah," she pants. Her voice is barely audible but he's close enough that he can hear her. "I just… need a minute."

He nods and kisses her neck. Then he settles down in the blanket next to her, wrapping his arms snug around her and pulling her against his chest. Their skin is warm, still a little sticky from sweat; they're both wearing their boots and precious little of anything else; his shorts are still down under his backside and he's still wearing his coat and tie, too.

"Just… a minute," she says it again, trying to convince both of them, but she was pretty damn tired when they started and now she's just exhausted.

She figures she'll just take a minute or two to collect herself and then they can get back to business, but she closes her eyes for a few seconds and wakes up what must be hours later. The fire is down to just a few blue-flaming embers.

Both coats are spread over them like blankets—Hatter must have moved them—and shield their naked flesh from the big itchy wool blanket that's now pulled comfortably tight around them, blocking out the cold and the wind and the whole outside world. It's just them in their warm little shell and the rest of the world doesn't matter. He's next to her, one arm snug around her and the other cushioning his head; hers is on his shoulder. His breath is stirring her hair. They smell like sex and sweat. She has teeth-marks in her bottom lip and stubble-burn on her thighs.

Not bad, she thinks as she snuggles up closer to him. Her head is foggy with sleep. She could get used to this.

Oh, yes—not bad at all.

o…o

So there it is—they don't actually get around to having sex, but it counts as porn anyway, right? I hope so! This story kind of exploded out of control and is now spawning an alternate ending to the series in my head; I mean, if they did anything like _this,_ then I can't imagine the series would end the same way, right? So I might (very _tentative_ 'might'!) continue this story. And for the record, this hypothetical continuation has porn in it.


End file.
